


The Writing is on the Other Side of the Wall

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Swan January Joy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 05:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17420159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: Emma Swan’s favorite author is her next door neighbor, but just because she loves his writing doesn’t mean she loves him. She doesn’t even like him. In fact, one could say that she absolutely hates Killian Jones and the way he blares his music through their shared walls and how he is always incessantly flirting with anything that breathes.He drives her insane, and she’s about one three am wake-up call away from breaking into his apartment and throwing his speaker out the window. Or maybe she’s one three am wake-up call or one knock on her door away from her life beginning to change forever.





	The Writing is on the Other Side of the Wall

_His hand falls to his side, grasping tightly to the wound and firmly applying pressure to try to get the bleeding to stop. He’s desperate, his entire body surging with pain, and he knows this is likely it for him if Kate doesn’t get here soon to help him. God, Kate. He loves her, and he needs her._

_But she’s not here._

“Fuuuuck,” Emma groans, slamming the book closed before tossing it across the room, a dull thud echoing when it hits against her dresser. “How the hell do you just end a book like that? Seriously?”

 

She throws her head back against the bed, closing her eyes and grimacing thinking about how she just stayed up all night reading the newest addition to the Crashing Waves series. She’s pissed, feels as if her own heart has just been ripped out of her chest or like she’s been shot in the stomach like Connor. It’s dramatic, but she has to go to the office for a meeting in – she looks down at her phone – three hours on no sleep.

 

Damn you, Killian Jones.

 

Almost as if on cue, music starts blaring from the other side of her bedroom wall, muted sounds of Hozier playing through the sheetrock. If she was asleep, it’d wake her up, as it does almost every night. God, her neighbor is so annoying, and maybe she’s a little pissed because he’s the reason she never gets any sleep. Usually it’s because he plays music during all hours of the night (and day), whenever inspiration strikes him apparently, but tonight it’s because his new book came out yesterday and she absolutely couldn’t wait to read it.

 

It’s ridiculous, really. She’s a scraping by bail bondsperson who lives in a crappy apartment with thin walls (obviously) and a frankly disturbing pipe system for her water, and her neighbor is an accomplished author whose books are always on the best-seller’s list, usually the top. She read something the other day about them possibly being adapted into a television show or a movie, so he’s obviously doing well for himself. Hell, she just bought his book for twenty dollars.

 

But he still lives here.

 

It doesn’t make any sense.

 

It’s still the reality, though. Her neighbor is one of her favorite authors – and she has a hell of a lot of those – and she absolutely hates him when it comes to him being a human being that she personally knows.

 

Really, really hates him.

 

The music is one thing. Yes, she knows that she works weird hours, never really does have a regular sleeping schedule, but she’s not disturbing other people during sleeping hours…okay, so her skips don’t count. They’ve done something illegal and then skipped out on their court date, so they deserve to be disturbed during sleeping hours. But she’s still home a lot at night, often sleeping, and she’s woken up every time he starts playing music…which always means he’s writing. She only knows that because she’s read all of his books and watched a few interviews (on Good Morning America totally by accident she swears) and he’s said that he writes while blasting music.

 

She wants to blast him.

 

Does that even make any sense? Probably not, but she’s exhausted.

 

But it’s not just the music. He’s an asshole, and she’s not exaggerating. He’s impossible to talk to without him flirting with you in that deep British accent of his, and for awhile, she thought maybe he was just hitting on her. He’s not. He talks that way to everyone, and it gets under her skin in the worst way possible. She doesn’t know why, but it does.

 

Sometimes, though, while she’s talking to him at the mailboxes or asking him to quite nicely shut the fuck up, he’ll get this glazed over look in his eyes, looking above her forehead, and it’s like he’s no longer a participant in the conversation. She doesn’t know why he does that, but she’s not here for people ignoring her.

 

There’s been enough of that in her life.

 

Don’t even get her started on how he always gets the best parking spot. She’s never once been able to park near their building. She’s always parking blocks away while his Chevelle is nearly always resting in one of the spots just a few feet from the door.

 

The thing she hates most about him, though, is that he was once witness to this awful, blow-out break up she had with her ex. It was humiliating, her face red and tear-stained as she yelled at Neal and the girl he was cheating on her with to get the fuck out of _her_ apartment, their pants basically still around their ankles. She was heartbroken, her body physically feeling like it couldn’t go on anymore, and when she looked up, there he was coming up the stairs with a few bags of groceries in his hands and a dumbfounded look on his face that’s forever scorched in her memory.

 

_“Swan, bloody hell. What’s happening?”_

_“Nothing,” she sniffles, wiping at the tears at her eyes and taking in a shuddering breath, “Just…forget you ever saw anything. It’s not important.”_

_“Love, it – ”_

_“Don’t.” She holds her hand up before taking a step inside her apartment. “I’m not your love or anyone else’s apparently.”_

That wasn’t…he didn’t do anything wrong there, but he was there and now she associates that moment with him. It was one of the many low points in her life, one she doesn’t like to remember along with the foster homes and all of the people who have left, but it often does in the middle of the night when her body’s fighting sleep…but then the music always starts.

 

“Jones,” she yells, reaching up and pounding so hard her fist hurts, “turn the music down. I’m sleeping.”

 

It’s a lie, but she doesn’t even care, especially when he never does end up turning the music down. Bastard.

 

She walks into Lucas Bonds at nine that morning, the largest travel mug she owns full of coffee and her eyes covered in dark sunglasses to keep herself from dying in the sunlight and bad florescent lights in the office. She’s exhausted, every limb in her body somehow dragging behind her, and if she doesn’t have a nap soon, she might very well pass out.

 

“Woah, why the hangover kit?” Ruby laughs the moment she plops down in her chair, the wheels turning as she slides back. “I didn’t know you were going out last night.”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“Then why do you look like you’ve been run over with a truck?”

 

“Didn’t sleep. Like, at all. There was maybe an hour in there at the end.”

 

“Hot neighbor keeping you up again?”

 

“You could say that.”

 

“What?” Ruby practically flies out of her chair, leaning forward and clamoring over the desk to get in her face. “Did you finally get rid of all of that sexual tension and fuck him? Damn. Way to go Swan.”

 

“Ew,” she groans, sliding her glasses to the top of her head and taking another sip of her coffee, “I did not fuck him. I barely know him.”

 

“That’s never stopped you before.”

 

“It has when I have to see the guy again. Ruby, why are we here this early? Couldn’t she have done this later? Where’s Granny?”

 

“On the way. She’s running late.”

 

“Of course she is.”

 

Granny finally rolls in a quarter until ten, and it takes no more than thirty seconds for her to get down to business, going through their quarterly reports, trends, and tips for improvement. It’s ridiculous how detailed her boss is, but it works. It would just work better if they did it on another day. But she really does only have to blame herself, even if she is blaming Killian, and after Granny divides up cases for the next two weeks, Emma heads home and immediately falls asleep, hoping for no more music from next door.

 

* * *

 

Her weeks pass as normal, hours spent working tracking down skips far outnumbering the hours of music blaring through her bedroom wall. She knocks, Killian ignores it, and everything that she knows about her life stays the same.

 

Then the heater in her bug breaks in November, the chill of Boston biting while she drives around in the frigid air. She swears that it’s colder inside of her car than it is outside, and that makes for some long nights watching for her skips to pop up where her info says they are.

 

She figures this guy isn’t going to show, and she curses him to herself. His bail was larger than her normal guys, possession of a hell of a lot of drugs but not enough to be a drug dealer, and the pay from his fee would be enough to fix her heater so she doesn’t freeze to death in the winter. She’ll have to do more honey traps instead of stakeouts if she doesn’t get him, and she’s honestly not sure what’s worse.

 

Freezing to death in her car.

 

That’s worse.

 

But then Jeremy Lockhart steps out of the bar he’s apparently been frequenting, and she knows she has to make her move now before the future frostbite begins to consume her. As quietly as she can, she gets out of her car, making sure the door closes without so much as a click. She jogs up to him, her gun hitting her side under her shirt while she moves.

 

“Excuse me,” she calls out, putting on her sweetest voice, “excuse me sir.”

 

He turns around and a grin that makes her skin crawl moves across his face. “Yes, darling?”

 

She shudders, the pet name sounding disgusting on his lips, but he can’t know she thinks that. “I have a flat tire, and I was wondering if you could help me.”

 

His eyes study her, flicking up and down her body while his tongue pokes out and runs across his bottom lip. “For a woman as fine as you, of course.”

 

“Oh thank you so much. You’re just the biggest help.”

 

She leads him back to her car, walking just behind him so she can grab her handcuffs from her belt, and while she’s fumbling, she doesn’t notice Jeremy turning on her, his fist colliding with her cheek and sending her to the ground.

 

“You’re the bitch who’s been following me,” he spits, the saliva landing next to her stinging cheek. He kicks at her calf, and she cringes, attempting to think through her next move if he doesn’t walk away. “Maybe next time don’t drive such an obvious car. A fucking yellow bug, like you’re a daisy or something delicate when you’re obviously not.”

 

At that, he jogs away, gravel kicking against her all the while she cups her cheek, trying to assess the damage and make sure he didn’t knock out any teeth or break something. Fuck, this hurts. Like a lot. It hurts a hell of a lot, her face throbbing and stinging while she gets up and walks to her car, her kicked leg dragging the slightest bit. Bastard. He’s a bastard, and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. When she settles inside, she pops down her visors, checking the mirror to see that the left side of her face is red and beginning to swell. She’s sure a bruise will form, but honestly, despite all of the pain, all she can think about now is not having the money to fix her damn heater.

 

Happy winter to her. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

 

It’s a long drive home, a wreck causing the usual late-night traffic to be backed up and at a standstill. Her face continues to throb while she sits there, rubbing her hands up and down her arms and listening to the music play from her radio. She can already see a bit of purple coming in, something that’s going to take a lot of makeup to cover up, especially since she knows she’s going to have to take the honey trap cases again.

 

Granny’s going to be so pissed at her for going after Lockhart alone.

 

She’s kind of pissed at herself. She should have known better, but what’s done is done.

 

After two hours, most of which was spent scrolling through Pinterest on her phone and draining her battery, she makes it back to her apartment around one in the morning, finding a spot a few blocks over and walking the rest of the way, trying not to get pissed at Jones’s car parallel parked right near the entrance. She hurts, her body stiff from the sitting and the hits, and it takes her longer than it should to climb the three flights of stairs.

 

She’s just made it to the top when the door next to hers opens and Killian walks out in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. She gulps, her eyes moving over him. She can’t stand the dude, but as Ruby says, he’s hot. Him being shirtless, his lean muscles and black chest hair on full display, isn’t really helping her think otherwise, and if she didn’t think her body would fall out from under her for walking downstairs, she’d turn around and walk away so as to avoid all of… _that_.

 

It’s very distracting, especially with the way he’s got an anchor tattooed on his hip, dipping into his pants with his treasure trail of hair and a slight bulge. Yeah, she’s never going to be able to forget that, and all she wants is to forget this night.  

 

But she can’t avoid him, so she takes a deep breath before walking toward her door, trying as hard as she can to hide her limp and keep the left side of her face out of his view as he fiddles with his door knob. God, he’s so weird. What the hell is he doing? She inches closer, trying to keep her gaze away from the way his muscles dip into a v-shape and the damn tattoo, but then he turns around just as she’s passing his door.

 

“Hey, Swan? Late night ou – bloody hell, what happened to your face?”

 

She cringes, the movement making her face sting even more. “Quite the thing to say to a woman, Jones.”

 

His hand automatically goes up to scratch behind his ear, his lips ticking up on one side and the muscles of his arm twitching. “That’s not what I meant, love. You’ve,” he motions toward her, circling around her cheek, “you’ve got quite a bit of a bruise forming. Did someone…did someone hit you? Are you alright? Do I need to take you to the hospital? Or the police?”

 

“I’m fine,” she sighs, trying to school her features. “It was just a skip gone wrong. You don’t have to worry about it or me.”

 

“If you’re sure. But I’ve got…I’ve got a frozen steak in my freezer if you want it. To help with the swelling, not to eat. Though you can eat it if you want.”

 

She rolls her eyes. He’s being nice, not his usual cocky self, and she doesn’t want to be rude to him. Okay, so she does. She wants to complain about the music and the flirting and ask why he’s studying his door knob in the middle of the night, but she bites her tongue. The steak would be a hell of a lot better than the ice pack she was going to make in a Ziploc bag, so she nods her head.

 

“Alright then, you can follow me in while I get it or you can wait out here.”

 

He walks inside without checking to see if she’s following him, so naturally she follows him. His apartment has the exact same layout as hers, but his furniture is a hell of a lot nicer. It almost makes the place look nice and a little less crappy. He’s got a brown leather couch with a plaid throw draped over it, more throw pillows than anyone has a right to, as well as two matching arm chairs. Unsurprisingly, his walls are covered in bookshelves, the tall dark oak stretching from floor to ceiling absolutely covered in books, meticulously organized by size and color.

 

Wow. That’s…insane. But he is a writer, she guesses. He’s got to be really into books and a little eccentric. The random music and studying of a doorknob are proof enough of that.

 

“Here,” Killian offers, holding the steak out to her, “I hope this helps.”

 

“Thank you.” She takes it and presses against her cheek before beginning to walk back to the door. “I, um, maybe you could not play the music tonight so I can sleep. Or have you considered headphones?”

 

He smiles with his entire face, his teeth shining against his stubble, before winking at her. “You know how it is, love. It’s my method for writing. I can’t change things up or the next book will never get written. Have you read any of them?”

 

“No,” she lies, pressing the steak a little further into her cheek while his eyebrow raises in question. “I honestly have never considered it. Never really have time. My neighbor is an asshole who can’t be quiet.”

 

“Aye, but an asshole with a frozen steak that’s yours to keep.”

 

“How gentlemanly of you.”

 

He winks again, his smirk positively salacious while he hovers over her, the heat of his body consuming her for a moment until he takes a step back. “I’m always a gentleman.”

 

Miraculously, no music plays from the other side of the wall that night, and she manages to sleep through the night, only waking to stick the steak back in her freezer and make herself an ice pack. She’s really got to invest in some of the premade ones, but she’d preferably like to not get punched again. She wakes the next morning with a purple face and a slightly swollen eye, but it’s not as bad as she thought it would be.

 

She’s going to pretend it’s not from the steak keeping the swelling down.

 

Granny is indeed pissed that she went after Lockhart alone, and so is Ruby. They give her an absolute earful before telling her she can’t go out looking for skips and has to work in the office until her face heals. She protests, the need for a heated car and money calling her name, but Granny says no. And when her boss says no, she has to listen. She may be older and a grandmother, but she is absolutely terrifying when she needs to be. She’s the only motherly influence Emma has as well as being her employer, so Emma begrudgingly listens.

 

Loyalty and a paycheck and all that.

 

She’s sitting on her couch, a bowl of popcorn with melted milk duds next to her, while she does some research for Ruby, trying to track down skips and working up fake Tinder profiles to be used in the future. It’s just as she’s drafted a profile for Jacqueline Carmichael, a spicy (she can’t believe these are the types of words that work on men) brunette who just loves to have fun, that there’s a knock on her door. She closes her laptop, putting it on the coffee table and wiping her hands on her jeans before walking over and stretching up on her socked toes to look through the peep hole.

 

It’s Killian. He’s standing outside of her door and rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands behind his back.

 

She sighs before she unlocks her door, turning the bolts and undoing the chain before the wood swings open.

 

“Hi, Jones.”

 

“Hello, love.”

 

She waits for him to say something else, to give his reason for knocking, but he doesn’t. instead he smiles at her, gaze never leaving hers. He looks almost…giddy. What is – what is happening?

 

She leans against her doorframe and crosses her arms. “Did you need something?”

 

“Have you ever considered having a ride-a-long with you when you’re tailing skips?”

 

Oh hell no. That is not happening.

 

“Nope. And I’m not going to consider it now if that’s what you’re asking. I like to work alone.”

 

“What if I pay you?”

 

That gets her attention. She could use the money. Like, she could really use the money, and while it would totally mess with her method, it wouldn’t be that bad would it? Would he talk too much? Would he try to tell her she was doing her job wrong? Is it worth the money?

 

Money is a girl’s best friend.  


 

“Why?”

 

“I’m looking for some inspiration and practical experience for my new book.”

 

“How much are you willing to pay?”

 

“I, um,” he mumbles, scratching at his chin, “what would you like?”

 

She hesitates, unsure of what to ask for. “Is this going to be a one-time thing or multiple rides?”

 

“Multiple, probably.”

 

She thinks about it for a moment, weighing what’s appropriate and knowing how much he has to make. “Can you swing two hundred per ride?”

 

He grins, nodding his head. “I can do that.”

 

“Perfect,” she smiles, reaching out and shaking his hand, ignoring the warmth of his palm and the strength of his grip. “I’m not going out again until next Monday, if I have something. You good to go out late at night?”

 

“Ready to go whenever you are, Swan.”

 

She’s pretty sure she just made a deal with the devil, but money is money. It better be worth it.

 

* * *

 

“So what exactly are we doing?”

 

Killian’s fidgeting around her desk at the office, going through her pens and papers and swirling her coffee mug all while she looks through their database to see if they have anybody they’ve paid bail for miss their court dates. They’ve got two, both men, and she knows that they’ll be easy to bring in.

 

“I’m looking for work.”

 

“It doesn’t just come to you?”

 

She rolls her eyes before rolling her chair back and propping her feet up on her desk. “For a writer, you sure as hell don’t do any research.”

 

“This, darling,” he points to her and grins, “is my research.”

 

“Okay,” she sighs, piling her hair up into a bun on her head so it’ll stop falling in her eyes, “so most of our work is done in the office. If someone can’t pay for their bail, which happens a lot for people who commit small-time crimes, we pay it for them for a fee, usually a percentage of their bail. That’s how we make our money.”

 

“So when do you chase people down?”

 

“Only about fifteen percent of the time do we have to do that. Most people show up to their court date, we get our money back plus the fee, and we’re good to go. But when they don’t, Granny has Ruby and me, as well as Will who mostly works out of office and does long distance stuff, more bounty hunter-ish, track them down and bring them back to court so we can get our money.”

 

“And that’s what you were doing when you got beat up a few weeks ago?”

 

“I didn’t get beat up but yes.”

 

“Huh,” he sighs, leaning back and stretching his hands above his head, his sweater lifting a bit to reveal some hair on his stomach and the tip of his tattoo, “interesting. So you really do mostly sit in the office or at home?”

 

“Yep. It’s not as exciting as people think. It’s a lot of sitting on your ass.”

 

“But do you like it?”

 

She shrugs. “It pays the bills. And I do like the adventure sometimes. Don’t like the getting punched or late nights. Aren’t you supposed to be writing this down?”

 

He taps his head. “I’ve got it all up here. But I’m also recording it on my phone.” Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “I hope that’s okay.”

  
  
“As long as you’re not doing anything creepy with it, that’s fine. I’ll kick your ass if you do.” She rises from her chair, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “You want to go for that ride?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

* * *

 

“So now we’re sitting around on our asses but in a car.”

 

“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, reaching into her cup holder and grabbing the coffee they stopped for before making their way downtown to wait outside Josh Plunkett’s apartment building. “Can I ask one more question?”

 

“That’s what you’re paying for.”

  
  
“Why is it so bloody cold in here?”

 

“Heater’s broken.”

 

“And you don’t want to fix it?”

 

She rolls her eyes, having to hold back every sarcastic and biting remark that’s running through her mind. Yeah, this is definitely going to be more difficult than she thought it would be, which isn’t saying much. “I was going to use the money I got from the guy who gave me a black eye to fix it, but we never caught him and lost all of our money for him. So no heater.”

 

Killian doesn’t say anything else, just hums in response, and that’s pretty much how it goes for the next four hours. Sometimes he asks questions, most of them about her job, but that’s it. He’s still the same flirtatious guy that he always is, but it’s not nearly as obnoxious. Maybe it’s because she’s not tired and he’s not blaring his music through her wall. Instead he’s quietly listening to music through her radio, keeping his hands away from the knobs and letting her pick.

 

Good.

 

Plunkett never leaves his building, and since she can’t technically go inside, she gives up for the day, driving them back to their apartment and parting ways after Killian gives her the money he owes.

 

Over the course of December, Killian Jones becomes a constant at her side. He’s annoying and a little insufferable, but he’s also helping to make her two hundred dollars richer much faster than she usually would. Plus, not that she’d ever tell him, she’s kind of geeking out about the fact that her job could inspire a part of the next Crashing Waves book. When things get quiet, sometimes she almost asks him about what’s going to happen next, if he can tell her if Connor is going to be okay, but then she’d have to tell him she’s obsessed with his books.

 

And that’s just not going to happen.

 

He’s warming up to her though.

 

Maybe that’s just the coffee he brings her before every ride-a-long. He only had to ask once to know how she takes it, and he’s gotten it right every time since. If anything, that wins him the tiniest of points. The fact that he’s kind of funny and makes up commentary for the people they see walk by who aren’t her skips gives him some more of these fictitious points if only for keeping her entertained for hours on end.

 

Her phone buzzes on her bedside table, and she rolls over to pick it up, an unknown number popping up on the screen.

 

**Unknown: So I’m thinking I’m the Castle to your Beckett.**

**Emma Swan: Jones?**

**Unknown: Killian Jones. Richard Castle. Same thing, milady. We’re both suave, dashingly handsome writers with beautiful law enforcement partners.**

God, he’s so dumb. She wonders how long he took to piece together the idea that he’s anything like Castle. Hell, that’s probably where he got the idea for this whole thing. She snickers under her breath before burrowing under her blankets and looking back at her phone.

**Emma Swan: How the hell did you get my number?**

**Killian Jones: Watched you type your phone password in, swiped it when you went to the bathroom last week, and then texted myself before deleting the message off your phone.**

**Emma Swan: Creepy, dude. You could have just asked.**

**Killian Jones: Yeah, well, it’s too late now because I have your digits, love.**

Who the hell says digits? Killian can be old fashioned but not old fashioned enough to say digits. Yeah, he’s a curious case this Killian Jones.

**Killian Jones: I’m about to write some. Will it disturb you if I play my music?**

**Emma Swan: Always.**

**Killian Jones: Well, I do so fancy you when you’re yelling at me. And when you’re not.**

 

She scoffs and rolls her eyes before twisting in her bed. Sure enough, his music starts blaring through her bedroom wall. She doesn’t bother texting back, knowing he’s likely getting in the writing zone and dead to the world, but she does bang on her bedroom wall, not expecting a response as always.

 

But to her surprise, he knocks back twice…and then cranks the music up.

 

A laugh escapes her before she can stop it, and she yells out, “Asshole.”

 

* * *

 

“So what exactly is she doing with us today?” Killian asks her before looking back at Ruby in the backseat.

 

They’re in Killian’s Chevelle today while her bug is in the shop getting fixed – as funded by Killian Jones and his new obsession with bail bonds – and Ruby had demanded to ride along on their ride-a-long as well as actually being here for work. This car is a million times nicer than her car, than their apartments honestly, and she’s for some reason relieved that he’s made some concession to his wealth, even if she used to be annoyed every time she saw his car. Plus, it’s got these adapted heated seats that are to die for.

 

Seriously.

 

Her ass has never been this warm.

 

“Same could go to you, buddy,” Ruby challenges, poking her head up between the two of them while Killian drives them to the bar where her date is waiting. “This is my job, too.”

 

“I know that, but Emma’s showing me a honey trap date tonight. I wasn’t aware that took two people.”

 

“It’s for if he tries to run away,” she explains to Killian, patting him on the arm and telling him to take a left at the next turn. “And Ruby’s also sadistic and likes to watch the poor guys go from thinking they’re on a date to being taken down to a station and put behind bars.”

 

“Damn right.”

 

“You’re quite the character, love.”

 

“Yeah? You gonna write me into your book? I think I’d probably read them for that.”

 

Killian chuckles and looks over at her, raising his eyebrows. She shrugs and shakes her head in response. She doesn’t have any answers for Ruby either but man does she love her friend.

 

“Maybe,” Killian acquiesces, winking at her so Ruby can’t see, and her stomach does some kind of weird flip. “I’m still working out all of the kinks in my plotting process, but I like where things are going. The development is coming along quite nicely. The pub just up here, darling?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” she answers, pointing toward an open parking spot, “park there so we can get to the car quickly if we need to.”

 

Ruby’s gone ahead and walked into the bar, the three of them not daring walk in together, and she and Killian stand outside the entrance. It’s absolutely freezing, and her dress barely covers her previously warm ass. God, she hates this sometimes. She’s adjusting her dress, pulling it down her thighs and propping her boobs up all while Killian very obviously looks the other way.

 

“Alright,” she claps, trying to get his attention back to her, “how do I look?”

 

Killian finally looks her up and down, his blue eyes tracing her body in a way that doesn’t make her entirely uncomfortable. Then again, she did ask him how she looked. She gave him permission to check her out. His tongue pokes out, running against his bottom lip, and she chooses to ignore the tingling sensation at the base of her spine and the way her legs unexpectedly feel unsteady. It’s the heels. It’s got to be the heels.

 

“Beautiful,” he compliments, and heat rises to her cheeks. Suddenly his thumb is touching the corner of her lips, their bodies entirely too close so that she can feel the heat radiating off of him compared to the chill of the air. Holy shit. What is happening? “You’ve got a bit of stray lipstick.”

 

He abruptly pulls back, but he doesn’t step further away from her until he places his thumb in her eyeline. Sure enough, there’s a bit of her red lipstick on his finger.

 

Oh.

 

That makes…he was being helpful, but none of that changes the way her mind is suddenly cloudy and every part of her is reeling from their proximity and the way her body is responding to him. It’s not – she’s not felt that way before, not with him, with Killian. He’s her obnoxious neighbor, the incessant flirt. He’s not someone who should make heat flutter between her thighs at the touch of his thumb to her lips.

 

She doesn’t do relationships, not anymore, and she can’t afford for any part of her to want Killian Jones.

 

“Thank you.” She smiles before shaking herself out of it, getting herself back into the mood to work. That’s why they’re here after all, not for her to want to sleep with Killian. “So I’m going to go inside, find Jason, and in three minutes you can come in and sit at the bar or wherever gives you a good enough view for your notes, okay?”

 

“Sounds perfect.”

 

At that she leaves him as well as trying to leave behind all of these weird as hell feelings she’s suddenly having after whatever that was. Jason’s sitting at a table in the middle of the room, the other tables around him only mildly crowded. Perfect. That’s always better than back corners.

 

“Jason?” she questions, her voice higher pitched than usual, legs still the slightest bit unsteady. “You’re Jason, right?”

 

“I am,” he smiles, his eyes looking up and down her body in the same way as Killian’s did…but somehow more salacious. She really hates doing this sometimes. Has she already thought that? Probably. She can’t think it enough. These guys are all scumbags. “You’re Laura, right?”

 

“Yes, so nice to meet you.”

 

She settles down into the chair across for him, finding Ruby up at the bar just for safety purposes. Jason seems nice enough, but he also missed his trail for refusing to pay child support. So he’s an asshole, just not a dangerous asshole. Hopefully.

 

“So what do you do, Jason? I know that’s super boring first date conversation, but a girl just has to ask.”

 

“I’m a lawyer.”

 

He’s a liar.

 

“Oh really?” she flirts, leaning forward to twirl her drink around and prop her boobs up, the flesh practically spilling out of the material. “That’s so fascinating. What’s your specialty?”

 

“Oh, um, law suits.”

 

And not an inventive liar at that.

 

“So it’s not skipping out on providing over twenty thousand dollars for your children who you abandoned?”

 

Yeah, so maybe that last little part was for her. She enjoys taking guys like this down if nothing more than personal satisfaction for how her parents abandoned her. And, you know, to make sure those kids at least have the financial support to have a better life than her, asshole dad aside.

 

The smile on Jason’s face changes almost as quickly as the one on hers does before he’s throwing his wine all over her dress and running toward the door. Yeah, this is exactly why Ruby’s here.

 

“Dammit,” she mutters, knowing the dress is unsalvageable before getting up and heading toward Jason only for Killian to literally come out of nowhere and punch him in the face, causing Killian to curse and Jason to tumble backward into her waiting arms. “Or maybe not.”

 

She grabs Jason’s wrists, handcuffing him, and out of the corner of her eye she sees Ruby on the phone, likely with the guys down at the station to come pick him up since they’re near the precinct, as well as sliding extra cash over to the bartender for the disturbance they caused.

 

“What do you even know about family, bitch?” Jason mutters to her while they’re waiting outside, and the sting hurts as much as if she’d been the one to be slapped tonight.

 

“Not a thing and yet somehow more than you.”

 

Jason scoffs, and she sees Killian staring at her, his gaze so intense he could drill a hole on her head. She’s never told him anything about her time in foster homes, not more than possibly casually letting it slip, and she hopes that it’s not pity in his eyes. She can’t handle it if it is, so she makes sure to look away, training her gaze on the flickering neon light of the tattoo parlor across the street.

 

It’s another hour before Jason is loaded into the back of a cop car and her paperwork is all filled out so they can get their money back. Killian drives them back to Ruby’s apartment, dropping her off, before he drives them home, getting the best parking spot right next to the side entrance.

 

Bastard.

 

She never gets that spot. How the hell does he do that?

 

They’re silent as they walk up the stairs, her heels long gone and replaced with the slippers she brought with her, and by the time they’re standing in front of her apartment door, she’s exhausted, not wanting to think about anything.

 

“Thanks for tonight, Swan.”

 

“I should be thanking you. You’ve got a mean left hook.” She reaches down to grab his hand, running her fingers over the bruised knuckles. He hisses in response, his face contorted in pain. “You need to ice this.”

 

“Aye, but it seems I’ve given away my best icing steak.”

 

“Lucky for you I’ve got one.” She unlocks her door, having to kick it open with the rusty hinge, before stepping inside. “Come on.”

 

Killian follows her inside and to her freezer. She’s since invested in those nice ice packs, but after some rummaging, she finds Killian’s steak. It’s got to be freezer burned at this point, but it’ll work for her purposes. She smiles as she turns around, closing the door behind her, and holds the steak in the air.

 

“And I present to you, your best icing steak.”

 

“Bloody hell,” he laughs, his hair falling over his forehead, “I didn’t think you were serious. You didn’t cook this?”

 

“Nah, wasn’t ever in the mood. And it’s coming in handy now. Pun intended.”

 

“A regular comedian, love.”

 

“I know.” She hands it over to him before turning around and opening the door to ruffle around her freezer some more, finding a frozen pizza that should be edible. “You want something to eat? Pizza?”

 

“That sounds good.”

 

She pops the pizza in the oven, setting a timer on her phone, before she and Killian settle down onto her couch. It’s two in the morning at this point, most of the world asleep, and that makes it so much harder to find something on her cable package that’s not cartoons or infomercials. Eventually she gives up, leaving it on TCM, and falls back into the couch, the wine stain on her dress obvious.

 

“You a fan of old movies, love?”

 

“Sometimes. I think a lot of them are sexist as hell, but they’re kind of nice to watch on, like, a rainy day with all of the lights turned off and a cup of hot chocolate.”

 

“That sounds nice, Swan.”

 

Silence settles between them and while she’d usually let it, she feels far too uncomfortable about all of the events of tonight, so she changes the subject, trying to lessen whatever charge she feels in the room and fill the remaining space with conversation.

 

 “Was that your first time ever punching someone?”

 

“Second,” he smiles, twisting his head to look at her, their noses barely an inch apart. She can feel the heat of his breath when he speaks.

  
  
“Really? What was the first?”

 

“You don’t want to know.”

 

“I really, really do.”

 

His lips fall into a straight line, and his hand finds its way to his ear, scratching at his scruff. “I, um, well my brother had just died, and I was drunk off my ass trying to cope. Got angry at a guy in a pub and his face kind of collided with my fist.”

 

Oh. Oh shit. That’s not what she was expecting. How the hell does she respond to that? How does anyone respond to that? How did he respond to losing his brother? Besides the punching because she just can’t…she can’t imagine loving someone and then losing them through death. Not at all. That would be _heartbreaking_.

 

She reaches over and takes his unharmed hand, squeezing and letting her fingers linger there. “I’m sorry, Killian.”

 

“About the punch?”

 

“About your brother. I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

 

“How could you? I don’t talk about it, and we aren’t exactly the best of friends.”

 

That stings. She didn’t…she wouldn’t have considered them friends three months ago, but she does now. He’s grown on her. Granted, it’s kind of been like a fungus, but he’s grown on her after spending so much time together. There’s only so much you can avoid while sitting in a cramped car. He’s playing down his feelings, his eyes glancing toward her before looking away. She’s learned to read him, and that’s definitely what’s happening. They’re not nothing. They definitely have something going on.

 

Is he…is he scared that she doesn’t think they’re friends or acquaintances or whatever they are? She doesn’t have a lot of friends, but she thinks that’s what this is.

 

“Hey now, we are friends, Killian Jones,” she assures him, leaning her head a bit closer to his and squeezing his hand again. His eyebrow quirks, something she’s learned is one of his ticks along with the stupid ear scratching he just did. “What? We are. We hang out. We talk.”

 

“I pay you for all of that.”

 

“That makes me sound like a prostitute.”

 

He shakes his head from side to side, smiling while his eyelashes hit against his cheeks. Is he… _blushing_? “That’s not what I meant.”

 

“I know, I know.” She brings her bottom lip between her teeth, debating on whether she wants to say her thoughts of not. “But I bet we’d somehow get along even if you weren’t paying me.”

 

“We didn’t exactly get along before.”

 

“Yeah, well, you were a cocky asshole who played his music at all hours of the day and night. Now you’re a semi-friendly asshole who plays his music at all hours of the day and night.”

 

“Such a distinction.”

 

She laughs at his playful eye roll before releasing his hand and clapping her hand on his thigh, pushing herself off the couch and taking the frozen steak with her. “You want a drink?” He nods his head in acceptance. “Rum?”

 

She walks over to the kitchen, puts up the steak, checks on the pizza, and grabs two glasses from her cabinets and a bottle of rum that’s almost completely full. She doesn’t remember why she bought it. She’s not that much of a rum drinker, more of a whiskey and beer girl herself, but that doesn’t really matter now as she pours she and Killian a sizeable glass, the liquid burning as it travels down her throat.

 

It feels good relaxing after constantly working, and she slumps down on the couch next to Killian again, her dress riding up her thighs, before handing him his drink. She and Killian continue to talk, television shows and weird stories that seem to roll together without any awkward pauses now as they both continue to drink and eat the pizza. After awhile, a fire starts burning in her belly, her body warming and her senses dulling the slightest bit.

 

When she looks over to Killian his cheeks are flushed red and there’s the slightest bit of sweat framing his forehead, his hair pushed back from where he’s been running his fingers through it while he’s been rambling on and on about his first book tour and how he’d accidentally spilled his coffee on a young fan’s book and had to give her a new one only for her to request to keep the ruined one because it was coffee he was drinking.

 

“That’s fucking weird,” she snorts, rum practically coming out of her nose. “Who would want a ruined book like that just because you’d had some of the coffee on it?”

 

“This lass apparently,” he laughs, leaning forward and putting his hand on her knee, the heat of his palm seeping through her skin.

 

Everything is so warm, his hand, her skin, the room. She’s not drunk, but she’s definitely buzzed. And the buzzing is making Killian’s lips and the way he keeps running his tongue over them especially attractive, the pink a nice contrast to his black scruff. He probably tastes like rum, and she wants to taste it on his lips instead of in the glass.

 

So she does.

 

She grabs his shirt collar, pulling him forward and crashing her lips into his while her nose squishes against his face. He whines, the sound shooting straight to her core, before his hands harshly grip into her hair and his lips move against hers. He’s rough with her, the softness of his lips completely cancelled out by the harshness of his whiskers, and when she bites down on his bottom lip, hard, he emits a groan that comes from the very back of his throat before his tongue thrusts into her mouth with no preamble. It’s a hot, wet slide, the sensations shaking her and curling her toes.

 

When she pulls back, she takes a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart and mind, but then his lips are moving along her jaw and down her neck, landing at her collarbone and sucking a mark in her skin that’s going to stay longer than the wine stain on her dress.

 

Her dress that is far too constricting right now.

 

She moans when his hands start moving…everywhere, up and down her back until they’re on her thighs, under her dress and pulling it up until it gets stuck at her ass. She’s not at all responsible for what happens next and the way that her dress comes up her body to rest around her waist or the way Killian’s pants come undone and a condom from his wallet goes on while her underwear is slid to the side. And she’s definitely not at fault when she straddles Killian’s lap and rides him into oblivion. It’s rough and rushed and the basic definition of a quick fuck, but she doesn’t care. He’s filling her completely while his hands dig into her ass and his lips leave their mark against her skin.

 

“So bloody tight, Swan,” he grunts into her ear before slapping her ass. She has to hold onto the back of the couch with such force, her breasts pressed against Killian’s chest while she moves above him. “Feels so good fucking you, being inside of you.”

 

“Shut up.” She moves her lips to his to get him to be quiet, their groans mixing together until there’s not another sound in the room and her eyes begin to have black spots behind them, the humming of her body at a high while Killian pulses inside of her. She comes on a shuddering breath, the unexpected quickness making it all the more intense, and she’s so gone that she doesn’t feel anything but her trembling legs.

 

Afterward she rests on top of him still, catching her breath, and before he can even pull out of her, she realizes her mistake.

 

“That was…”

 

“A one-time thing.” She moves so that he slips out of her before pulling her dress down to cover her. “You can go home now. There’s a trashcan by the front door.”

 

She doesn’t look at his face, shame rushing over her, but in the brief moment before she looked away, she saw the flash of disappointment in his eyes before there was a clench in his jaw. She hears his pants being zipped and his breathing settle before he grumbles under his breath.

 

“As you wish.”

 

That night she falls asleep in her wine-stained sex-mused dress without removing her makeup or brushing her hair. Except she never really falls asleep. She stays awake and lets her mind run through…everything. She can’t believe she slept with Killian. How could she be so stupid? Why did she even want to sleep with him?

 

She fucked up, and she has no idea how to fix it. She has no idea if she even wants to fix it. This isn’t what she does. She doesn’t sleep with people she has to see the next day, and she sure as hell doesn’t sleep with anyone who she knows as much as she knows Killian, who she may have some kind of feelings for. They all just leave anyways, and he may be just next door, but he won’t always be. He can’t be. He can afford a nicer place, one across the city with a doorman and an elevator. He’s not going to stay. This is all temporary, just like him spending time with her most days in their ride-a-longs. It’s not going to last.

 

 It’s too much. It’s all too much, and if she could go back in time two hours, she thinks she would.

 

While suffering through her misery, the hangover already starting to set in, she expects music to blare through the wall, some kind of anger writing coming from Killian.

 

But the music never comes.

 

And it doesn’t come the next day.

 

Or the next.

 

She doesn’t hear any music blaring from Killian’s apartment for days on end. In fact, if she counts correctly, she doesn’t hear any music from Killian’s apartment for twenty two days, and despite having the opportunity to sleep peacefully for the first time in years, she can’t.

 

She picks up his books a couple of times, thinking about rereading them, but instead she puts the latest one away in her bedside drawer, slamming it shut and electing not to look at anything that reminds her of Killian.

 

She does her stakeouts and honey traps and research alone. It’s something she did alone for half a decade, but she hasn’t worked alone in months, not since late-November. But it’s March now, almost April really, the weather blustering outside and the snow beginning to melt into rain, and she’s all alone.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ruby asks her one day, tossing her burger wrapper in her direction. It lands on her stomach, and she simply brushes it off into the trash can next to her desk and continues eating while filing her paperwork online. “Are you just not going to talk now?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Someone peed in your Cheerios. Tell me so I can go kick their ass and get you out of this funk.”

 

“No one peed in my Cheerios. Just busy doing work and eating. Not a lot of time for talking.”

 

It’s the truth, but it’s also a lie. She could talk, but she just doesn’t want to. She’s not in the mood. She wants to do her work, eat her food, and go home to the silence.

 

“Emma, seriously,” Ruby coaxes, her voice suddenly soft, “are you okay?”

 

She plasters a smile on her face before looking up at Ruby over the top of the computer. “I’m fine. You want to go out tonight?”

 

“To work or to drink?”  


 

“Drink.”

 

They go to the bar around the corner from her apartment, walking into the dull wood-paneled room with its dim lights and smell of cigarettes and alcohol. It’s the perfect place to drink and not be bothered, which along with it being in walking distance from her apartment, makes it somewhere she frequents. But of course tonight being a night she wants to be left alone, to drink a few bottles of beer and talk (maybe) to Ruby, there’s a guy that comes up and slides onto the stool next to her.

 

He’s handsome, but it’s not right. His hair is too light and too curly, while his eyes are green instead of…blue. The scruff in his face is more like a beard, and his accent, well, there’s really not one. He just sounds normal. There’s no smooth velvet British accent, no dulcet tones that make her skin prickle when an innuendo spills from his tongue. And while she doesn’t know, doesn’t have any interest in finding out, she knows his lips won’t feel right either.

 

“Hey, buddy,” she stops him in the middle of his sentence, knowing it’s rude, “I really appreciate you coming to talk to me, but I’m not really feeling it tonight.”

 

“Oh,” he gasps, his wide eyes suddenly straightening and slimming, “well you could have told me that before I put in the effort.”

 

“I didn’t ask you to talk to me.”

 

He gets up from the stool, cursing her under his breath, but she doesn’t care. Ruby whistles, the sound reverberating throughout the room. “Damn girl. Why don’t you just bite off his head? It’d be less painful.”

 

“He was an asshole.”

 

“He was okay, Ems.”

 

“He was nice until I shut him down, which always shows a guy’s true colors. You ask them to respect your personal space and they just run away. Always running away.”

 

She takes a sip of her beer, the liquid coating her throat while condensation falls off the bottle and she blocks everything out but the broken bottle on the top shelf in front of her.

 

“So what exactly did Killian do to make you so doom and gloom?”

 

“Why would Killian have any power over me?”

 

“Because you like him.”

 

“I do not.”

 

“Bullshit.” She glances over toward Ruby then, and all of Ruby’s features are focused on her. “That’s bullshit, Emma. You live in the land of being alone except for me and Granny. And yeah, I know you have a fucked up past. We all do. If anything I’ve googled about Killian is right, he does too.”

 

“Rubes…”

 

“No, let me finish. You are not a sunshine and roses kind of girl. You’re moonlight and overgrown weeds, but there are people who prefer the night and love the wildness of the weeds. I have never seen you happier than you have been the past few months and whether you like it or not, Killian is part of that.”

 

“I don’t need a man to make me happy.”

 

“No, no you don’t. But it doesn’t change the fact that he does. So tell me, what the hell could he have done that was so bad that you’ve been moping around like this for nearly a month?”

 

She sighs, closing her eyes before opening and looking Ruby dead on. “We fucked.”

 

“Did you not want to? Is that what the problem is because I’ll kick his ass and chop off his balls.”

 

“No, I wanted to,” she explains, waving Ruby away before she goes and murders Killian. “We were buzzed, leaning a bit toward drunk, and it just happened. I’m pretty sure I started it. And then I told him to get out. Haven’t heard from him since.”

 

Ruby’s hand reaches over to hers, holding her palm in between her hands. “Emma, you hurt his feelings. The guy is head over heels for you, he finally gets to be with you, and then you kick him out. I’m not saying you have to go running into his arms or anything, but he probably deserves an apology, for you to talk to him instead of ignoring him. And you probably deserve to realize that you deserve more than sleazy guys hitting on you in bars on a Tuesday.”

 

“When did you become an expert on feelings?”

 

“I’m not. Just an expert on my best friend.”

 

Emma smiles then, the corners of her lips twitching up, before she leans forward and embraces Ruby, holding her as tightly as possible. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome. So what are you going to do?”

 

“I’m going to finish drinking with you,” she answers, determined to forget about Killian for a night and focus on spending time with her best friend. “That’s all I can do right now, okay?”

 

* * *

 

She falls asleep that night a little easier than she has been, and when she wakes at ten the next morning, she’s not nearly as groggy as she usually is. Getting out of bed, she stretches her arms out and accidentally knocks against the wall.

 

Shit.

 

Her body freezes in its spot, fear coursing through her as she waits for any response. A knock. Some music. His voice.

 

She doesn’t hear anything, and that nearly breaks her. Everything Ruby said last night was right. She likes Killian, and that’s exactly why she pushed him away. Stupid, stupid girl.

 

Taking a deep breath and steeling her nerves, she purposely bangs on the wall before grabbing her phone and blaring whatever first pops up on Spotify until she hears a muffled curse and a slammed door. _There you go, Killian_. A smile breaks out across her face that only increases when she hears a similar banging on her front door.

 

It takes less time than usual for her to walk the few steps and unbolt the locks, swinging the door open to Killian’s scowling face.

  
  
“Bloody hell, woman. Would you politely stop the damn music?”

 

“No.”

 

“What do you mean no?” he scowls, everything about his demeanor angry and annoyed and just how she thought it would be. God, she’s missed him. “It’s early, I’m sleeping, and I don’t want to hear any of that crap.”

 

“You haven’t been playing your music.”

 

He looks like he’s about to say something else, his mouth gaping open before closing while he furiously blinks. “W-what?”

 

“You haven’t played your music in twenty-three days.”

 

“So?”

 

“That means you haven’t been writing. Why?”

 

He shrugs. “Haven’t felt like it. I’ve lost the muse lately.”

 

She takes a few steps forward, ending up with her toes nearly touching his bare feet and her forehead at his nose. “Killian, I’m so sorry that I kicked you out like that.”

  
  
“Swan, it’s fine.” He reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “It was nothing.”

 

_Liar._

 

“It’s not. You’re not a random guy. You’re a friend…okay, you’re more than a friend, and I treated you like shit. That’s not okay, and I’m sorry.”

 

He chuckles before running his hand through his hair and looking up at the ceiling. “Love. I am thirty-four years old, and I have never been this confused by a woman in my life. You’re bloody infuriating.”  


“I know.” She chuckles under her breath before reaching out and tentatively touching his wrist, testing the water between them. “And you probably hate me for it.”

 

“No,” Killian answers, her heartrate picking up to ridiculous levels, “I don’t. I like you, love, have for quite awhile now, and I’d give anything in the world to get a chance to be with you without one of us running away or following the other at work. I quite fancy you, Emma Swan, even though I really want to yell at you.”

 

“I quite fancy you too.”

 

“Good.” He smiles before taking a step forward and closing the door behind him. “Now that we have that settled there’s several things that I’d like to do with you in the next hour.”

 

With that he surges forward and cups the back of her head, pulling her lips into his and devouring her while their hips push together. It’s much more intense than last time, not a one of her senses dulled by alcohol or lack of sleep, so she can feel every inch of him pressing against her while her hands find his back and just try to feel every inch of covered skin until they’re slipping under his t-shirt.

 

She pulls back, her cheeks flushed and chest heaving, and she can barely catch her breath. Her eyes flutter up and find blue staring down at her.

 

“Please don’t make me go, Swan.”

 

“I won’t. I’m not…I’m not good at this, but I want to try. God help me, but I want to try.”

 

“Are you sure?” he pleads, his eyes searching hers for something. “You have to be sure.”

 

She doesn’t hesitate to answer though her voice does shake a bit. “I’m sure.”

 

She squeals when Killian’s arms pick her up, literally sweeping her off her feet and walking her to her bedroom, kicking the door closed and dropping her on the bed so that her squeal is even louder, echoing throughout the room while the mattress bounces underneath her and she tries to catch the breath that was knocked out of her. When she looks up, he’s staring at her, eyes somehow hungry and dark with desire as well as dancing in amusement. She doesn’t know what to do, how to feel. She wants him, but she also wants to be with him, to walk the tentative tightrope of whatever it is they’re doing beyond sex.

 

Before she can move, he leans down, propping his hands on either side of her shoulders and caging her in. She expects him to kiss her, but he doesn’t, not in the way she was anticipating it. His teeth drag against her exposed collarbone, tongue trailing right behind them, and she gasps out his name with surprising fervor while his teeth and whiskers burn her. Her hands find his back, nails digging into the material of his t-shirt, and that only pushes him further, his tongue dipping into the hollow of her throat while their hips press together, moans escaping them both.

 

She smiles when his lips find hers, the heat in her belly calming for a moment before he bites her bottom lip and she allows their tongues to curl together. Then it all comes back in a blazing inferno, every inch of her skin heating the more they press themselves together.

 

“Killian,” she breathes, pulling back from him only for him to press several quick pecks against her lips, making the room lighter than it has been.

 

“I want you,” he mutters, trailing more hot kisses against her jaw before licking into her mouth, making her toes curl again and again.

 

“Have me,” she sighs before laughing, “did I really just say that?”

 

Killian smirks against her skin before his hands find their way under her shirt, trailing up until he ghosts over the swell of her breasts, her lack of bra making everything heightened. His hands are gentle but rough, callouses he’s likely formed from writing with pen and paper when he gets ideas instead of on his laptop covering them, and she whimpers when the pads of his thumb and forefingers find her nipples, bringing them to straining peaks.

 

“Your breasts are glorious, and I’ve never even seen them.”

 

Killian is full of the cheesy lines this morning, but apparently she is too.

 

“Would you like to?”

 

His eyebrow quirks, practically reaching his forehead, and she knows the answer to that is yes. So she inches backward, letting Killian move back from her, before lifting her shirt over her head, the coolness of the air far outweighed by the heat of his gaze. He studies her as if he’s studying a text, his eyes tracing every inch of her skin while his palms test the weight of her breasts. His touch is as intoxicating as his voice, and her core flutters in anticipation.

 

Then his lips are on her skin and he bites down against a nipple, teasing her and causing her body to switch between pain and pleasure, never quite sure what she wants. She thinks she just wants it all.

 

It’s overwhelming the way she feels him everywhere when all of his intentions are focused on her breasts, pushing her into the mattress, and she has to run her fingers through his hair to find some kind of steadiness, holding him to her skin until he starts moving down her body, tongue tracing her freckles while his erection presses against her thigh through his pajama pants. Yeah, this is already a million times better than last time even with the bit of morning breath and newness of them to each other.

 

His fingers hook into her pajama shorts, pulling them down and off of her body all the while he kisses down her calf, lingering at her ankle before moving up and hovering above her core, his breath hot over her flesh.

 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, dipping down and pressing a kiss to her mound.

 

Her back arches off the bed, he smirks, and she snarks, “if you think a vagina is pretty to look at then you’ve got some issues, bud.”

 

Killian laughs against her skin, his chest rolling and the vibrations reaching her, before his fingers find her flesh, swiping through and gathering the wetness that’s pooled there. It’s – fuck – it’s good, the foreplay not something they did in their jumbled, buzzed mess, but then he slides a finger into her while his thumb finds her clit and she’s flying.

 

Or almost flying. She’s not quite _that_ keyed up, but she is when Killian continues to curl his fingers inside of her while he moves up the mattress to kiss her again. Then she’s flying and there’s black spots behind her eyes and she can’t breathe from the way her breath catches in her throat and everything stills for just a few seconds.

 

But then she comes back to herself, and she can feel the way that sweat has beaded at her forehead and how her thighs feel slightly sticky while Killian hovers above her smiling.

 

“What?” she laughs, reaching up to push his hair off his forehead. “Why do you look so stupid?”

 

“Tis nothing. You’re just glorious like that, your cheeks flushed and lips pink while you scream out my name.”

 

“I did not.”

 

“You did.”

 

“Shut up,” she scoffs, pushing him off of her before sticking her hands into the waistband of his pants, his tattoo sticking out the slightest bit, “and take off these damn pants.”  


 

“You’re so romantic, darling.”

 

Her hand brushes over his obvious erection, and he hisses, his teeth clenched and his face scrunched in pain. She feels satisfaction, but she also feels desire, wanting him to be inside of her just this second. “Are you telling me you don’t want to fuck me, Killian Jones? Because we need to do that. I don’t think I’ve ever talked this much during sex,” she tugs at his pants again until his cock emerges and brushes over his ink, “and I’d like some of this.”

 

He pounces on her then, crushing his mouth to her as he pushes her into the mattress, his body absolutely everywhere. There are words mumbled about protection, and Killian grabs the condom from her beside drawer, taking a little bit too long but then he’s sliding into her in one smooth movement. Fuck. He’s heavy and thick, dragging against her walls in the best way possible as her nails dig into the skin of his shoulders and her feet wrap around his ass, pushing him further into her so they both groan. He begins moving within her, soft and slow thrusts, while his tongue lavishes her breasts, teasing her as they get into a rhythm.

 

“Killian,” she whines as he rolls his hips, deep and hard, at the same time that he bites down. “Oh, Killian, fuck, that’s good.”

 

“You’re so fucking tight, squeezing me. This is incredible. You’re incredible.”

 

He mumbles the words against her breasts before moving up and murmuring more into the skin of her neck. But then he’s kissing her while moving inside of her, their chests heaving together and everything simply feeling right, muscle strains disappearing in the ecstasy of it all. She knew this time would be different than the first. It’s not a drunken hookup, but that’s not the only difference. She feels connected to him somehow and more than just because they’re physically intertwined. It’s like she’s drowning in him, in this, and Killian’s the one with the life raft.

 

Yeah, she’s definitely been spending too much time with him if she’s thinking like that.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” he compliments on a shaky exhale before the slow movements increase and he’s fucking her into the mattress, hard and fast as his thumb moves against her clit, “and so bloody frustrating.”

 

She’s not – he’s not…she doesn’t have any words, so she uses her mouth to bite into his collarbone like he did to her earlier, digging into his skin and using her heels to make himself bury into her further, feeling her completely. He’s filthy with his whispers, murmuring things like _you’re so wet, I want to fuck you forever, and a man could live within you and never tire_. The last one makes her laugh while also gasping into an orgasm that overwhelms her, the breath in her chest escaping her while small pinpricks dance across her skin. He fucks her through it, his words coming out on stuttered groans, before he gently pushes into over and over and over again, coming inside of her in a way that makes her eyes close again in the bliss of it all.

 

When it’s over, she’s spent, and she tries to catch her breath, letting Killian rest on top of her and just drinking it all in.

 

Yeah, so maybe her neighbor isn’t so bad after all.

  
  
(And she’s entirely surprised that the Crashing Waves books aren’t absolutely filthy with the way he speaks.)

 

“You know, love,” Killian whispers sometime later, her curtains closed to block out the light while her nails trace the hair on his chest. “I found something interesting in that drawer of yours.”

 

“Hmm, I don’t think my vibrator is really all that interesting.”

 

“No,” he laughs, leaning forward and pressing several lingering kisses against her cheeks, “but Crashing Waves is.”

 

Oh shit. Oh my God. The book. His books. She’d…she hid the last one in her bedside drawer when they weren’t speaking, and he saw it. He saw it when he went for the condom. She risks looking at him, and he’s absolutely smirking, his eyebrows dancing across his forehead.

 

Yeah, so he’s still a little bit of that same asshole.

 

Good. She’s not sure what she’d do without his snarky comments and quick wit. She’s really come to like them as much as she likes him.

 

“Oh my God, you saw that?” She slaps his shoulder before burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex. “You weren’t supposed to ever see that.”

 

He laughs against the crown of her head while his hand rubs up and down her bare back, fingers trailing into her hair. “I didn’t know you were such a fan of my work, darling.”

 

She pulls back then, smiling up and him and appreciating the lightness of his gaze. “What are you talking about? I’m a fan of every part of you.”

 

She kisses him then, soft and sweet and everything.

 

It’s only later, after a few more rounds that have her spent and after a hell of a lot more talking, when Killian gasps, “we should have played music, love.

 

* * *

* * *

 

_I will admit that my books are more about mystery, action, and drama than romance, but I’m also aware that the romance between Connor and Kate is a reason I have so many dedicated fans. I’m sad to say, however, that I fear I have done them an injustice. No, nothing horribly bad will happen between them – if Connor recovers from where we left off mind you – but I’ve written this great love only to find out it’s not so great._

_You see, I met a woman recently. Well, not so much recently. We’ve known each other for quite a bit, and I’ve always been infatuated and enamored by her even if she despised me. She’s bloody brilliant in every way possible, and I’ve been able to really and truly discover that as I’ve slowly and surely gotten to know her over the past few years. And I tell you this and tell you that I’ve not written a great love story because she’s taught me what great love actually is._

_It’s passionate and messy while also being altogether simple and boring. She riles me up and calms me down all in a five-minute span, and whenever I think I know what’s going to happen next, she surprises me. You see, I love her with every fiber of my being and nothing in my life has ever been so painful and thrilling all at once. It’s wonderful, and I hope that all of you experience a great love one day. This one is it for me. There will never be anything like it._

_So to my love, my Emma, my wife, thank you, darling. You push me to be my best, and this book would not be possible without you._

_Seriously._

_It is you, after all, who inspired me and taught me that even those things we think are impossible may very well be possible. After all, you love me._

_Killian Jones_

_Husband, Soon-to-be father, Honorable Bail Bondsperson, Amateur DJ, and Author._


End file.
